Crossfire
by VogonProstetnicMo
Summary: Love, war, and zombies.
1. Chapter 1

_Shit._

She hadn't meant to get this far in. It wasn't her job to be running around out here alone. Sure, she was good at finding exit routes. She had to be. It came with the territory, and she needed to be good at finding quick exits in order to be good at her job. But that didn't mean it got any easier with time. Especially not this time.

It was her own fault, of course. She'd been following their team's Soldier in far past enemy lines. He'd been doing well, she'd given him an übercharge, everything had been great. Until he'd run smack-dab into a critical rocket. It didn't do wonders for the face. Maybe she should have gone into plastic surgery after all. Nice quiet job, paid well, good benefits. But no. She'd gone ahead and taken the mercenary position instead. And so here she was, running for her life, praying that the opposing team's Soldier hadn't seen _her_ when he shot her heal target. Because she really, _really_ hated going through Respawn.

Running at a dead sprint from the spot where Jane had fallen, she sidestepped the corner where she knew she'd find a shiny blue sentry. Panting, she reached a wall. It was white, she noted in passing, all the better to show the blood by. Shouldering up against it as best she could with the bulky medpack, she peered around the corner, taking in the field at a glance before rapidly withdrawing her head. They couldn't afford to be down a Medic at this stage in the game.

There didn't seem to be anyone there, or at least, no one was immediately apparent. Great. So now she had to worry about Spies and Snipers. The ones who'll get you before you see 'em. Because it's their job.

A glimmer of steel in that window- but no, that was from her own team's Sniper. She'd seen him slinking up to that platform just minutes ago. Dark eyes scanned the barren landscape again. _Now or never_ , she steeled herself. _None of us have got all day._

Taking a deep breath, she sprinted around the corner... and barreled right into the BLU Heavy.

 _Ohcrapohcrapohcrap_

It was over. She hadn't been paying enough attention, and now she would pay the price by a long, slow, excruiciating trip through Respawn. The heavy hitters on the team weren't known for being merciful with their punishments. Especially not the Pyros. Fumblingly, she dropped her medigun and reached for the knife at her belt.

An enormous paw intercepted her hand. The other pinned her to the wall by her collarbone, lifting her bodily-effortlessly-as he moved into her space. Fighting back panic, she twisted her body, attempting fruitlessly to free herself. It wasn't doing anything. He had a solid foot of height on her, and was at least three times her mass.

She looked at him. Defiantly, daring him to finish the job.

His head swiftly moved in, lips locking with hers in a moment of passion on his part, a moment of sheer unadulterated confusion on hers. Too surprised to move, she froze. _Isn't he the enemy...?_

With a movement almost as brusque as the clumsy kiss had been, he dropped her, bending over to pick up Sascha.

"Go. Go!" He jerked his head toward the RED base. Without needing further encouragement, she snatched up her medigun and ran.


	2. Chapter 2

Whether it was from sheer boredom, or walking off the residual adrenaline high from winning a match, evening found her wandering aimlessly through the narrow hallways of the base. It was home, she supposed. Or as close to home as she was going to get these days. But some nights... it got stifling. Especially when she had a lot on her mind. She was starting to feel cabin fever: a feeling that was greatly intensified when Scout came up behind her, leaning his lanky body into her as his mouth motored on.

"An' I was _jus'_ about to finish 'im off, see, when POW!"-he slammed his fist into his other hand-"heah comes dis _otha_ guy, outta nowhere, see, and BAM!"-an expansive gesture-"he gets blowed clear outta the map!" His laughter pushed Natascha over the edge, draining her last remaining vestiges of patience.

"Will. You. Shut. Up." She half-turned around, shoving his frame off her. "What does a Medic have to do to get some peace and quiet around here?"

He smirked at her. She had always hated that expression. It belied an unpleasant mood beneath the surface. " _I_ know somethin' that'll make things quiet around heah."

With a snarl of impatience, she turned on her heel and stormed out the door. Stupid teenage Scouts with their stupid teenage hormones. Never content to rest on their laurels, always needing to prove themselves via new exploits. Usually exploits of an unsavory nature, to boot. He walked around like he had a chip on his shoulder, even to members of his own ever-lovin' team. She had about had enough of the braggadocio and the bravado he constantly seemed to exude, never mind how much or how little he did to merit it. The fact that he couldn't shut his mouth about it got under her skin, even if he _had_ earned bragging rights. Well... that might be true enough, in its way. She relented a little. He was, after all, the youngest member of the team. And not half-bad, as far as all that went. He could hold his own on the field, which was more than she could say about a lot of her teammates when they didn't have her behind them. But the attitude that came along with that age bracket...it was absolutely insufferable.

A sigh came whooshing out of her lips as she absently ran slim fingers through silky, deep chestnut hair. Her angry, powerful stride slowly shifted into a saunter as bit by bit, the honey-sweet night drizzled over her, its heaviness washing over her with a forcefully calming presence. Shoving her glasses further up her nose, she tipped her head back to look at the stars coming out in the purplish azure of the desert evening. Apart from a loud whir of cricket song, it was a quiet night out here, and she realized with a start that she'd wandered a little further from the base than she'd thought. Ah well. There was nothing particularly dangerous out here, other than a handful of rogue coyotes. And she would be willing to wager that those sly dogs were busy hunting something else at the moment, if the shrill yipping off to her left was any indication.

Wandering a little further, she found a relatively level spot on the sand. It was a perfect night for stargazing. The sky was clear, and a soft breeze wafted over her as she settled onto the ground. It was still warm. The sand had captured the suns rays from earlier that afternoon, and was loth to relinquish them. Snuggling her full length into the sand's caressing embrace, she lifted dark blue-almost violet-eyes to the sky.

There was Cassiopeia. And Libra. And Perseus. She strained her eyes, searching for her favorite. Were the Pleiades visible from her current location? She couldn't remember. She'd only been stargazing out here a handful of times. Life got too busy these days. Closing her eyes, she took in another lungful of the night's heady perfume. Oh. That was lovely. She could live on that scent, consume it like solid food. She never grew tired of the way the land smelled at night. Somehow, that odor was always very nearly the same, no matter where she ended up. It was like an entirely different world, one that had been created at twilight and would be broken by the new dawn crashing through.

Two worlds. One of wonder and mystery. One of ordinary, mundane life. Both existing in the same place, but never at the same time. Each's existence precluding the other.

With another quiet exhale, her eyes flickered closed.


	3. Chapter 3

Mikhail was having a restless evening. The dreary energy which had settled over the team matched the darkening sky. It always felt duller when they were coming off a loss. The falsely inflated sense of euphoria following a win buoyed the entire team's spirits. The dark mood that followed a loss numbed the senses, putting an edge onto everything else that revealed itself in raw bursts of irritation that alternated with periods of weighted restlessness. An itch to prove themselves again the next day. And the next. And the next. It was all made up, of course. But that didn't make the mood in the air any less palpable. It was a still, dead night. The chill seemed to seep into the bones as the dew slowly began to settle. Minutes dragged by blearily, muddied in their recollection, all streaked together like watercolors in the rain, blurring as the heavy drops began to pelt down.

The pacing seemed to be all off. It felt as if someone had taken the clock off the wall and put it into a permanent catatonia. A powerful lethargy settled over him as he sat, eyes unfocused, staring at a dying fire in the hearth.

The fire was little more than coals at this point. It had been dying for the past forty-five minutes. Every now and again, a spurt of yellow flame would lick at some heretofore unconsumed scrap of fuel, and a pale flicker would light the room for a fraction of a second. But for the most part, the room lay shrouded in darkness, save the reddish glowing of a small circle around the molten embers. Mikhail heaved a sigh, breathing out the smoky air.

It was tiring, losing. It always made him feel like he was twenty years older than his actual age. It ran through his bones like the ache of wet weather. He could hardly bring himself to leverage his body up to bed when the time came. It figured that he wouldn't be able to sleep.

He rolled over for what felt like the twentieth time, willing himself to think of something else, but to no avail.

He couldn't get the kiss off his mind.

Had he gone too far? Yes. That much was certain. But how else could he effectively get her attention? Anything short of drastic would have looked like trickery. Treachery. The base work of a Spy. The contract explicitly stated that they weren't supposed to be seen together. Ever. Opposite teams didn't fraternize with the enemy. Those were the rules.

Heaven help you if you broke them.

He felt her lithe body tense against his again. She had been so... _alive._ Fierce. She hadn't been afraid. She'd been fighting to the last moment, her strong body resisting his. Like a lioness. Noble and proud. Like an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. He felt her palpable confusion again, brushing his hand absently over burning lips. So tiny, yet so fierce. She was beautiful, of course. The only female on the other team. It had to be her. Nobody else would have done.

He shifted onto his side, sighing. It was closer to daybreak than midnight. His prospects of getting more than four hours of sleep were dwindling rapidly. Staring at the wall, he bit his lip.

His stomach turned at the prospect of meeting her in battle the following day. It would serve him right if she slaughtered him outright, and he knew it. But the other thing he knew was that he would never be able to send her through Respawn again.


	4. Chapter 4

The morning dawned cold and clear. The wisps of clouds that had passed over the base through the night had left, blown eastward by a favorable zephyr. All was silent. The light was slowly spreading from the eastern horizon, palely lightening the sky by degrees in a pastel pallet of iridescent fuschias. With a start, the Medic awoke. Natascha's bright green eyes snapped open as an involuntary shudder passed through her body. It had gotten cold overnight. She hadn't intended to fall asleep out here.

Her clothing was damp. The small amount of dew afforded by a desert had seeped in, chilling her to the bone. The sun had not yet gained sufficient power to shake the chill, although it would doubtless be less than two hours before she would be positively dripping from its rays. It was an unpleasant sensation to wake up to, this dampness, and she found herself greatly desirous of warming up inside. Her sharp enjoyment at waking up outside had been somewhat blunted by the cold. She shivered again.

Stifling a yawn, she stretched, letting out her breath with a whoosh as she relaxed again. For a moment, she contemplated not getting up, watching a bird fly overhead.

Her discomfort prevailed, however, and she rolled over onto one side, brushing sand off her clothing as she stood. She rolled her neck around, easing the stiffness out of it before she set out at a trot in the direction the base lay. She had a moment of panic when she first surveyed the land to seek it out: a desert is a very big place in which to get lost. Fortunately, a desert is also a very flat place when the dunes aren't tossed to mountainous heights by high winds. She located the base. It lay about a mile off to her left. With an appreciative sniff of the morning air in all its timbres and colors, she rolled up on the balls of her feet, stretching from her fingertips down to her toes. Dropping back down onto the soles of her feet, she was off to the base. There would be just enough time for a long hot shower and breakfast before she needed to check up on her equipment for that day's battles, she judged.

She found herself back at the base before anyone else had awoken. The door was locked-of course it would be-and she wrenched on the handle in vain. She preferred this entrance, as did her teammates. The front door faced the desert, so they could come and go as they pleased, without the BLUs needing to know their traffic patterns. Of course she would have to go to the back, in plain sight of any BLUs who might be up at this hour, however unlikely that might be. With a growl of irritation, she paced around the building, with the intention of finding if the back door was similarly barred from entry.

Halfway there, however, she encountered a different sort of problem. A shard of metal, a scrap from yesterday's fray, was sticking out of the ground at a dangerous angle. It was directly into this shard she walked, tearing the skin from her ankle with one misstep. Yelping with pain, she hopped back to survey the damage.

Yep. That had definitely nicked a vein. A profuse flow of dark purple liquid was trickling down her foot. Loosening the shoelace, she tugged off the shoe and sock, balling it to hold against the flow of blood while silently cursing her luck. It wasn't an artery wound, judging by the speed and color of the blood, but that didn't make it any less painful. With another growl, this time of pain, she stood, wincing, and hobbled her way over to the back entrance. The one that opened towards the enemy base.

She was intercepted in her halting progress by a quiet electric buzz. The sound of a BLU spy uncloaking.


	5. Chapter 5

p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"He was leaning up against the building directly in front of her, a mocking visage staring cockily into hers./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;""Going somewhere?" he breathed, catlike voice almost purring with assumed velvety softness./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"Natascha stared at him with a look of concentrated hatred./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"He'd had it out for her almost since she started working at the Industries. Two days into her first week, she'd already known they were going to have a rivalry. Kill, revenge, kill assist, revenge. The cycle was rarely broken, except to be interspersed with a brief intermission of killing other people. It wasn't pretty. But then, their entire emjob/em wasn't pretty. Death didn't have a tendency to be graceful. The less so when it was the only thing they ever saw, day in and day out. Well. It was the way it was. It was just the way it had to be. They had a history. One that was liable to make this encounter extremely unpleasant./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"He crouched down next to her, lanky frame dropping springily into a casual resting position./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;""No, I don't think you are... empoppet./em"/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"She didn't see it coming. Of course not. He had her at a disadvantage,and she knew it. His hands twitched. And just like that, her hands were cuffed. She would give it to him: he was good at his job. Very, very good at his job./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"However. This put her in the uncomfortable position of having to fight back. Swinging her leg under her, she was startled to have his gloved hand immediately clamp down on her shoulder, preventing movement and arresting her in the act of attempting a headbutt./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;""Oh no, darling. Can't be having any of that, now can we?"/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"A flick of the wrist and another of his irritating damn-sure smiles, and he'd stood, jerking her up with him. She glared at him, all the rage that had been building for weeks poured into that expression. Oh, he was a worthy adversary, all right. A worthy adversary for a sneak-thief. A low profession that could only be countered by delving lower: down into the very slums of Team Fortress Industries. And she'd never been one for treachery and deceit. That was how friends got killed. That was how lovers became enemies. emOr enemies became lovers?/em She shook that one off as soon as it passed through her brain. Now was not the time. Definitely not the time. And with that, she broke her inarticulate silence with a tone that barely reined in her hatred./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;""Cowardly work, isn't it? Sneaking around base, kidnapping hapless mercenaries?"/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"Icy blue eyes crinkled in amusement, his tone still suave, his smile still self-assured./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;""I call it... leverage."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"She jerked her wrists out of his grasp, and he let her, smirking when she stumbled as she was pulled up short against the chain fastened to them. She gasped with the sudden pain of the cuffs digging into her wrists, a quickly-spreading purple lining her hands in metallic rings./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;""Didn't see that one coming, love? You're not as bright as I thought."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"He stood, pulling her up with him, yanking the short chain of the already-painful cuffs even tighter./p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;""Come now, we have places to go."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;"Still catching her breath from the pain, she shuddered. This was getting her nowhere. Compliance, perhaps, would make things easier in the long run. He'd doubtless see through that one as well, but it was the best she had for right now. Maybe... it was a slim chance, but maybe there would be a way out once he left her alone. If worst came to the worst, she could probably convince someone to put her through Respawn. Staring straight ahead, she squared her shoulders, set her jaw, and began marching./p 


	6. Chapter 6

Misha was awakened by the blare of alarm bells going off. He jerked awake in a panic, insides roiling with something akin to fear when he realized that the screaming sounds outside his window were shells whistling past. He had missed the wakeup call. The battle had already begun.

In a confusion made worse by the mounting panic he felt, and further heightened by the general sense of extreme irritation that is almost unavoidably coupled to missing an alarm in the morning, he slung on a shirt and stumbled out of his room. Half-running, he bumbled down the hallway to the weapons room, swung Sascha up from the floor with a grunt, and barreled out the door, pelting death on all who dared assail him. Heaven help whoever dared awaken the Heavy.

He charged, yelling war cries with his throaty voice, determined to make up for the few minutes he'd overslept, spraying bullets across the field.

Except there wasn't anyone out here.

Once he'd gotten himself a little bit under control, and again resumed his mastery over the field (dignity, alas, being long gone at this point), he began to be a little bit curious. A lot bit curious, as a matter of fact. Roving eyes scanned the battlefield, wrinkled with concern. Where was she? For that matter, where was anyone? He could hear the fire being exchanged across the way, but there was nothing near him. It was as still as death, he realized with a shudder. It was odd, not having the group of REDs knocking down his door. It was even stranger not to see his favorite Medic leading the charge from behind her pocket. A pattering of bullets and a sudden sharp pain in his shoulder brought him back to the task at hand.

Cursing silently, he hefted Sascha up and swung around a corner for cover from the gunfire that was peppering the area.

He'd deserved that, letting his guard down like that on the battlefield. That was absolutely merited. He didn't even bother trying to tie up the seeping wound. He'd either run into his own team's medic, find a medkit, or go through Respawn before it killed him. He thought for a moment, sizing up the situation. Was that... Sniper? Why was he using his SMG? The man operated with precision. Finesse. It was his trademark. This wasn't like him. Peeking back around the corner, trying to get a handle on how to strategically extricate himself from the situation, he recoiled in horror. That... _thing..._ wasn't Sniper.

It had the long lanky body of the marksman, complete in every detail down to the clothes. But the face... the face was the face of a dead man.

A corpse pulled out of its grave after a month of decomposition would have presented a prettier picture. His face was rotting, rancid with decomposition. The customary tinted glasses that he wore were nowhere to be seen. One eye socket was empty, a dark hole in his face staring sightlessly at the Heavy. The other rolled from side to side, not seeming to take anything in. The mouth was drooling, long strings of saliva trailing off the flesh of the chin. Cheekbones were exposed, muscle riddled with maggots. Only the nose seemed to be alive, quivering as it smelled the blood of the man before it.

Misha felt his skin crawling with horror as he froze, watching it.

It lumbered towards him, eager hands reaching. Grasping.

He opened fire.

For a moment, he thought he was free of the nightmare as it collapsed, ripped in two by the line of rounds he'd put through it. But he felt his strength deserting him as the head slowly raised, grinning horribly, and the torso slowly began pulling itself toward him.

He ran.


	7. Chapter 7

Slowing-but just barely-he reached his own base and opened the door. Whatever that had been, he never wanted to see another one again.

He leaned up against the door, panting and trembling.

Maybe that was why he hadn't seen any action when he'd gotten out there. A convulsive shudder passed through his body. If both teams had been converted to those... _things..._ Or maybe the entire world had been. He didn't even want to think about that possibility.

He would have to run.

They didn't seem like they could be killed. Biting his lip, he dropped his head in thought, setting down Sascha. Perhaps... perhaps if he got supplies, he could drive to the next town, see if they were the same, and if not, see if they could help him. This was no situation for a man to face alone, though. Where had he been going with this train of thought? Supplies. He had to get supplies. Yes. That was what he would do.

Resolved upon that fact, he trotted down the stairs to the basement, an uneasy hand on the pistol in his belt. He never went down here. Nobody did. But this was where they stored the extra supplies on the base, and he would need every one of them if what he feared had come true. Hesitating a moment with his hand on the door, he shoved it open, banging it against the wall and startling himself as the adrenaline shot through his system. There was someone down here.

She was sitting in a chair, arms behind her. _That lab coat..._

It was his Medic. The one he swore he'd never kill.

Her head was down, long bedraggled strands of hair falling across her face. She looked like she'd had a hell of a time of it. Without raising her head, she spoke in a low voice.

"I'm not telling you anything."

The tone was even, dead level. It wasn't even forced as much as quietly defiant. He was reminded in a flash why he'd fallen for her in the first place. But his reaction was much less graceful.

"What the-"

He checked himself. Now was not the time or the place. But speaking of place... why was she here, of all places? She should have been on her side, in her base, with her team. Fighting in the regularly scheduled battle. At any rate, he didn't have the time to puzzle it out. Large, gentle hands reached around behind her to fiddle with the restraining pieces of metal. He frowned in concentration. These were locked to the bars of the chair. That wouldn't do.

"Will get you out of here."

He stood, straightening himself to his full height, and she lifted her head, deep confusion written across her features. Why had he come? Had Spy sent him? Was this yet another form of trickery, toying with emotions that she didn't even know existed? Her stomach twisted painfully. Her mind was in a whirl that had nothing to do with the previous few hours. He was... she didn't know what he was to her. She watched him in silence. She would wait and see.

He glanced her direction at that moment and winced in sympathy, feeling a quiet rage building inside of him behind the pity. Various hues of red were mottled around a rapidly-purpling eye. Whatever that Spy had done, he had fully intended to break the woman. It was not a pretty thought. She had been through a long night indeed if her face told the tale.

Rangy eyes scanned the room for a key to the cuffs. Nothing was immediately in sight, although he wouldn't have put it past that damn Spy to have left the key in plain sight, tantalizingly just beyond her reach. It was more likely in some hidden drawer or cupboard in the extravagantly lavish rooms he kept. Doubtless it wasn't too far from their current location. But they couldn't afford to wait and look any longer. He felt a rising urgency, a stab of panic in a flash as the face of the Sniper flitted across his memory. He bit his lip, looking at the swollen bruised wrists. _I'm so sorry..._

"Hold still."

He gripped her hands in his, enveloping the cold delicate fingers in his own. A quick tug, and a moment later she was a free woman. Relatively speaking. The cuffs were no longer tethering her to the chair, it was true. But she was still wearing semi-permanent bracelets.

"What the-"

She echoed him, jerking her head up at the sudden motion. That had hurt, dammit.

But at least she was free now.

Rubbing her wrists, she pulled a grimace at the sight of the purple rings around them.

"Like my temporary body art?"

She held it up for inspection.

"But seriously. What the hell are you doing down here."

She realllllly wasn't looking forward to yet another torture session.


	8. Chapter 8

His eyes strayed to her lips, held by the question.

"Er..."

This would be a little hard to explain. He snapped out of it, bringing troubled eyes back up to meet hers.

"Dead men are not staying dead."

That would be the gist of it, at any rate. Well, it would be if they worked any place other than the Industries.

"Yeah. I know. That's kind of how our job works."

Now she was looking at him like he was stupid. Or crazy. Maybe both.

"Nyet, nyet." He ran a hand across his head, bringing it to rest on the back of his neck, rubbing it as if he could massage an answer out of the top of his spine. The words for this would have been hard in his mother tongue. Now he had to convey to her-and _quickly-_ exactly what was going on outside. This would be a whole lot easier if he had any idea of what was going on himself.

"Is not like that. Are _like_ dead men... that is..."

He fumbled to a stop. Pleading eyes looked into hers.

"Just come. Need to hurry. Now."

He reached down to grip her hand-gently-and pull her along with him. But he was met with stern, solid resistance in the form of the entire Medic's weight pulling back at him.

"No. You haven't explained anything. For all I know, you're that accursed Spy dragging me out to yet another torture room, eager to gloat over making me walk there with my own two legs. Explain to me exactly why you're here, and why you're taking me with you. Start talking."

A steely expression backed up the statement. She wasn't moving. Fine. But it'd have to be fast. He began again, stumbling over the words still, but picking up speed as he went. Time was of the essence, didn't she understand that? Of course she didn't. She hadn't seen... whatever had been happening on the battlefield, if she'd been here most of the night, which was what it looked like to him. Those bruises must have taken at least a couple of hours to develop.

"Is... difficult to know. Man... men on battlefield are not... men. Were men. Are corpses. But are walking. Are shooting. Are still alive even though they are dead. Need to get out of here. Need to see if this... disease, is widespread. Save those I can. Kill those I can't."

His other hand came to meet hers, grey eyes flicking down to her lips again. The final request was quiet, not demanding, but begging.

"Please."

Her reply was quiet. Her tone had shifted from demanding, hard, and angry. Now it was pleading.

"Prove to me that you are who I think you are."

He swallowed and surrendered, bending over to let the world slip away in a long moment as he closed the kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

Not entirely surprised, but still caught off-guard, she froze as he went in for the kiss. Yep. That would _definitely_ be who she thought it was.

She gave it a moment longer than it strictly needed to last-was it possible that she was actually _enjoying_ it?- then pulled away from the kiss. Her tone cavalier, even after the moment they had just shared, she spoke in an even tone. Maybe she was just trying to gloss over the inevitable awkwardness. Misha, for one, could feel his face burning.

"Alright. So you've proved you are who I thought you were. Now explain to me- _slowly_ -exactly what you're doing down here."

What was _that_ supposed to mean? Surely she wasn't angry at him? Actually, no. She'd be absolutely within her rights to be angry at him. Great. He'd done it now.

He continued to mull over her first statement for a moment, but pushed it to the side when her next query came, bouncing back with his usual alertness and ease.

"Am here to gather supplies. Men on battlefield are no longer men. We need to run."

It was spoken in his curt, direct manner, throaty voice bringing a tonal dynamic to even the most matter-of-fact statement. His eyes flicked over her face, trying to read in her expression what her answer would be. But her expression was inscrutable. Biting his lip, he waited. It was the polite thing to do, especially after he'd just potentially made a mess of any gratitude she might feel to him for saving her. But what he really wanted to do was get moving. He had a million things to pack, if he could only get to them. Food, camping supplies, bandages... Did the magic of the health kits work outside of the Industries? It would be valuable space wasted if they didn't. But if they did... they would be beyond worth their weight in gold. There was even a possibility they could cure whatever was wrong with the men-

"I'm coming with you."

Straight to the point, as usual. She met his gaze solidly, reaching a strong hand out to grasp his arm with a confidential mannerism.

"What do you need?"

He jumped upon the question, pouring out his stream of consciousness in a small torrent of words as he ticked off items on his fingers.

"Food. Canned, if possible. Bandages, medkits. Medigun? If it works outside of battlefield. Water and canteens. Sleeping bag, clothing. Soap, toothbrush, razorblades."

He looked her over, pausing.

"Gun for you."

The corner of her mouth lifted in a smile a split second before she drew a silver derringer out of her belt, leveling it against the wall perpendicular to them before he had time to take a breath. In the long moment before she holstered it again, his eyes traveled the length of the tiny pistol, taking it in from the elaborately tooled scrollwork on the short snub nose to the deep mahogany of the butt. Now that was a lovely gun. Almost as beautiful as Sascha.

"I have a gun."

Her half-smile quirked into a full-blown grin as she sheathed the weapon, carefully concealing it behind her belt. He hadn't even known it was there. And he was something of an expert of that sort of thing. He gave a nod of open admiration, acknowledging the fact.

"So I see."

Turning away from him, she began scanning the shelves lining the basement walls, running her hands down the side as she began the search for the items on his list.

"Oh, uh- ...I'm sorry, what should I call you?"

A quiet smile.

"Misha will do."


	10. Chapter 10

"Natascha."

"...Hm?"

"My name."

He felt a quiet hum of happiness spreading through his chest, working its way up to his face in the form of a soft smile. It was a lovely name. Good. It suited her.

He pulled his gaze from her after a half-second longer, and began looking for supplies from his end of the room. Time was still of the essence, despite the brief respite they had at the moment. This shelf had surplus fire suits. Useful, but prohibitively bulky to travel with. Those would have to stay. Perhaps they could use the adjacent section's contents? His gaze traveled across the room again, flitting across the aisles of supplies butted up against bare concrete walls. It smelled damp down here. And perhaps a bit musty. Wrinkling his nose, he squatted, batting aside a box to view the one behind it.

She glanced up at him from the shelf she was scanning, offering a ghost of a smile before turning her attention back to the shelf. Pulling a canister off of it, she scanned the label, then looked back at him.

"Think this will help?"

He held out his hand.

"What is?"

"Catch."

With one fluid motion, she flipped the can into the air, its motion tracing a perfect parabola as it arced into his hand. Holding it out at arm's length, he peered at the label through slitted eyes. He didn't have his reading glasses with him. Speaking of, there was another thing that might be helpful. He made a mental note to retrieve them if they had time. The letters swam into some semblance of words, which he pieced together:

OXYGEN

COMPRESSED GAS

USE AT YOUR OWN RISK

"Hm."

He couldn't think of an immediate need for it, but perhaps it could be bartered? Also, _why in seven counties and the tri-state area had she just_ thrown _a potentially explosive can at him?_

Reading his face, she chuckled.

"Relax. It's empty. I'm just messing with you."

He let out a rather forced bark of laughter, then set the can down perhaps a little more gently than was strictly necessary in order to continue rummaging. The lighting in here made it difficult to catch what lay at the back of the shelves. Harsh, bare bulbs hung from the ceiling with half-exposed wires that made it a wonder the entire place hadn't gone up in flames months ago. The strident glare exposed the front contents of the shelves, but didn't touch much of anything else, casting long shadows in an irritating glow. It wasn't easy on the eyes, having to constantly adjust between bright light and deep darkness, and he found himself nursing a small headache before too long. Taking a step back to regroup, he looked over the tiny pile of supplies they'd heaped in the center of the room. Bandages, check. Canned food, check... kind of. Not enough to last them very long, at any rate. Some other various medical supplies that he was largely clueless about, but she had insisted upon, check. And that about wrapped it up for the room. Not an overly optimistic haul, if this was to be any indication of the rest of their searching.

"Natascha."

"Yes, hello?"

"There is not enough here."

Her tone dipped into irony.

"I'm well aware of _that._ Tell me something I don't know. Like what vehicle we're using to make this fantastic escape with."

Oh. She had a point there. Well, he only knew where the keys were to one vehicle, and that was Sniper's camper van. At least he could drive manual.

"Da. Have car. Van."

As long as they were the only ones to come up with that idea, that is. And he wasn't positive that they were. But he would keep that thought to himself for now. But if they weren't the sole survivors, then what? Were they obligated to wait around to see? He, for one, did not particularly fancy that course of action. But he felt an uneasy sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of leaving any of his teammates behind. None of them-not even Scout-deserved that fate. Pushing that thought aside, he stood, lifting the impromptu haversack he'd made of the supplies. He would have time to figure out how to contact them while they raided the rest of the base.

"You are ready?"

The question was addressed to her with redoubled urgency.

She gave a heavy sigh, running a hand through her now-disheveled hair, a gently tinkling chain trailing behind the hand.

"Ready as I'll ever be. Let's go."


	11. Chapter 11

Going up the basement stairs, he heard her breath catch as she followed him. Her footsteps slowed, although she didn't stop until he did, turning around to check on her. Her face was contorted in pain, its sharpness etched deep in her features even though it was apparent that she was trying to hide it. The words he was about to say died on his lips, and he abruptly shifted his bundle to hang from his fingertips.

"Here."

Reaching down, he bent and swept her legs out from under her, catching her neatly in his arms. He turned slowly to finish ascending the stairs.

"Better?"

She was caught entirely off-guard. He seemed to have a knack for that. The pause stretched out a second too long, and then she breathlessly replied.

"Yes."

Her tone was quiet. Still perplexed, honestly. His attunement to her needs was uncanny. She didn't know how he'd caught the fact that her foot still hurt from the morning's escapade. She wasn't about to complain, though. Taking a deep breath, she finally let herself relax into his chest, hearing the strong, steady beating as he made his way up the stairs. A slight angle of his torso and- there. They were through the door and into the main floor of the base. She glanced up at him, but there was no hesitation in the direction his feet chose to take. He was going for the base's food supply, and he was going there quickly.

Her foot didn't hurt _that_ badly. Honestly, she wasn't entirely certain why he'd decided to pick her up in the first place. Was she really lagging that far behind? She could walk, she really could. But perhaps... perhaps feeling safe at a time when everything else was all confusing and scary, perhaps being held when the only caress she'd received over recent weeks had been that of cold steel embedding itself in her flesh, perhaps these things filled a desperate hunger she hadn't known she had. Burying her face in his shirt again, she let herself feel that steady warmth flow into her soul. This was enough.

But it was fleeting.

He paused when they got to the doorway for the kitchen. This one was too narrow for the both of them to pass through.

"Will have to set you down now. Are alright?"

Regretfully, she nodded. Gingerly touching her feet to the floor as he set her down, she masked a grimace of pain when he released her. She would need to patch that up. As soon as she had the luxury of time, that is.

He shouldered his way into the kitchen, flicking a switch while his eyes were already roving the cabinetry, searching for non-perishable items that were compact enough to join them on their outward journey. Natascha watched for a moment, then frowned.

"If you want to take a vehicle... what are we going to do about fuel?"

He didn't pause in his search as he replied.

"Drive until we either find place that still sells it, or run out. Then walk. Or run. Or camp. Will depend on situation we find outside."

She nodded. There weren't many other options, if she were being honest with herself.

He tossed a bag of chips onto the counter, followed by noodles, rice, and beans. Half-a-dozen tins of SAXTON HALE INHUMANE MEAT PRODUCT followed, and then some more moderately labeled, less garish vegetables. Seeing the quickly-growing pile, she frowned again, and began looking for something with which to carry them. If she recalled correctly, the Sniper carried around a backpack sometimes...

"I'm going to go look for a bag."

He paused, finally looking down at her. With a moment's hesitation, he weighed the experience he had just had outside with the demonstration she'd given him of her quickdraw.

"Stay inside."

A noise of assent left her lips. She was already turning to go.


	12. Chapter 12

His brow creased as she left. He was still worried about that ankle. He wasn't sure what she had done to it- what he surmised the Spy had done to it, that is- but he didn't like how she was vulnerable at a time like this. It gave him cause for concern. A very legitimate concern, if he had to argue for it, that was really just based in his anxiety over her and whatever fiasco they had going. He was pretty sure he was already in over his head, there. Time to redirect the thoughts. Again. Think about something else. Something actually constructive to their current situation.

She didn't know her way around their base. Which... might actually be to her advantage, now that he thought about it. She would search in places he wouldn't think to look, and likely turn up some treasures while she was at it. Yes, now that he considered it, it was a distinct asset. He just hoped that the additional time it took her to go through things wouldn't negate any benefit there was to be had by gaining additional supplies. Brushing it aside, he continued raiding the free-standing shelf of dried goods that sat just to the side of the actual pantry. This tended to be more the spot that quick snack foods and breakfast food resided, items that were generally filling but not sustaining. Helpful, but not as helpful as they could be. They would need the high-fat, high-protein items. He began analytically and systematically scanning the contents of the shelf, prioritizing the denser calories and those that would keep the longest. Those would be the ones that would be their staples, especially if they couldn't immediately find another food supply. If they ended up, heaven forbid, on the run. For the long haul. That sounded like hell.

Tossing down another pair of cans, he slid them across the counter with a quiet exhale, eyes measuring the still-too-small accumulation of food ruefully. Even if they rationed, food wouldn't last very long out there. Glancing down at his gut, he frowned again. He... would have to work on that. Maybe save them a few meals in the process. It had saved him from starvation once in the Siberian winter. He supposed it wouldn't be that different in the post-apocalyptic autumn. Unpleasant, but certainly workable. And better him than the medic, who was so slight that he would be seriously worried about her if she missed more than a few meals. The responsibility to be a gentlemen fell upon his shoulders, for more than one reason. Sighing heavily, he began hunting for something heavy-duty enough to cart their wares off to the vehicle.

There was something oddly therapeutic about searching for a grocery bag, of all things. It was so _mundane._ So ordinary and everyday, compared to the usual discordant rhythm of his life. For the first time in this long, nightmarish day, he felt himself begin to relax. Just a tiny bit, a softening around the edges of the pulsating tension that threatened to take over his consciousness, but it was enough. The thrumming vibrations that had set his entire chest into resonance began to quiet, and just for a moment, he thought that it might be okay.

Now there was a dangerous mindset to get into.

Letting out a whooshing sigh, he slipped a paper grocery sack out of the back of the pantry and began loading it with goods. Oh, looked like the pantry had been restocked this past weekend. Good. He began to work even faster, tossing noodles and dried fruits indiscriminately in with cans of soup and boxes of cereal. So long as the bottom didn't fall out of the bag, he didn't really care what it looked like inside. There would be time enough to sort it out later. As it sat, he felt the tension begin to grow again. The faster he worked, the more it threatened to snap out of the flimsy semblance of structure that had been tenuously, shakily building. He released another long breath, slowly this time. Slow down, Misha. Gotta stay calm.

He tried vainly to get back to that momentary peace he'd just reached. Too little, too late. His foot began tapping impatiently as he tugged another grocery bag out and began loading it, lugging it over to meet the other one with an impatient gesture, jerking it out of the way.

He was stopped short in his preparations at the sound of a sharp cry that cut off as quickly as it had started. Dropping what was in his hands, he set off at a run towards the front of the base.


End file.
